


Like a Greek Tragedy

by Persephones_Hell



Category: Rocky Horror Picture Show
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Casual Sex, Dark Humor, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, F/M, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 17:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13956372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephones_Hell/pseuds/Persephones_Hell
Summary: A young and naive groupie finds herself pulled into a whirlwind of erotic fantasies and twisted nightmares.





	Like a Greek Tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a Rocky Horror fic, so I did. There is going to be A LOT of smut (when I get brave enough to write it, lol). So if that's not your cup of tea, you might want to skip this one.

The street lights were dim as the pink haired vixen roamed the empty length of road. More than enough liquor in her bloodstream, the self-proclaimed groupie swayed dangerously. The brick buildings were dull and dingy; she was used to bigger and polished cities, not little towns in the middle of Bumfuck, Ohio.

The moon was crystal clear, big as she had ever seen it. A harvest moon, no doubt, considering the telling tinge of yellow. Clearly a full one, as well. All freaks were welcome in the witching hour tonight.

The vibrant pixie woman pulled her halter dress up her bust as it began to dip treacherously low. Not that she gave a flying fuck. Hell, she’d strut down the street in nothing but an O-ring and lacy garters if it were up to her.

But _Public Indecency_ didn’t look good on paper. Especially more than once. Besides, she had already served her time with probation officers in Reno, Houston, and Santa Barbara; she didn’t need one in the Midwest too.

Pulling out her ID, the woman eyed it wearily.

_Mary Lou_

That name was just about unsuitable as the mousy brown curls the picture captured. Tossing it behind her, the plod of chunky heeled sandals on the pavement became heavier beneath her.

She needed a new identity; one to match her devil-may-care ways.

Mary Lou had favored A-line skirts and peasant blouses, as well as toffee colored penny-loafers. Her runaway-self was much more partial to bosom popping party dresses and thigh-high boots.

But her this persona had yet to be named. None had made sense or stuck. Mary Lou had been a goody two shoes, God-fearing young girl. One who had considered moving to a convent earlier in life.

Whoever she had morphed into was quite fond of casual sex and light bondage, not to mention unnatural hair colors and amateur body piercings.

Her mind swam as she continued down the up-turned brick streets of Denton, USA. A few stragglers crossed from bar to bar in sparse throngs. A man or two whistled in her direction, but they were stuffed shirts and had very little to offer in her opinion.

She wasn’t even thinking of potential conquests when she saw him. Parked down a spacious alleyway, a very beautiful man took deep drags from his cigarette. Upon further investigation she saw that he wore tight leather pants, white go-go boots, and a leopard fur coat. His inky black curls were wild, and he wore a full face of make-up: lips as red as wine and eyeshadow as blue as the sky.

“You lost darling?”

She hadn’t even noticed she was staring until he spoke, his voice velvet smooth.

“No,” she spoke confidently. “Not anymore.”

She approached him, before leaning against the black and purple hearse as he was propped against.

“You a mortician or something?” She tapped her panty hose clad toe against a tire. The mysterious man arched a perfect eyebrow.

“Not that I haven’t considered it,” He chuckled deeply, sending a heavy pulse straight to her core. “But it’s more of a stylistic choice.”

Plucking the cigarette from his painted lips, she placed it between her near identical pair, orange-shadowed eyes flickering shut.

“That’s wild, mister.” Her high-pitched squeal was excitedly prominent. She handed the cigarette back to him, calloused fingers taking the rolled tobacco back in amused elegance.

“Frank.” He offered.

“Huh?”

“It’s Frank,” he huffed in impatience, “Not _Mister._ ”

“You look more like a _David Bowie_ or _Brian Eno_ to me but whatever,” she shrugged. “Pleased to be acquainted, Frank.”

She gave a little salute in his direction, before fishing a joint out of her purse. Sure, it was risky, but most of Denton was fast asleep. This wasn’t LA after all; the night police officer lived outside city limits and was sure to be in bed next to his equally milk toast wife.

“This is where you’re supposed to introduce yourself,” The man added in agitation, before returning the favor and swiping the joint from her lips, taking a deep drag.

“Hey!” She went to grab for her marijuana cigarette only for a mesh-gloved hand to firmly catch her wrist. “ _Not fair_.”

“You get what you give, _pet._ ” He leaned in, hissing into her ear. Every nerve-ending she possessed was on fire. A deft tongue darted around her earlobe before teasingly dipping into the shell. “Now, do you have a name or not?”

“C-Columbia.” She murmured, running bright red nails through her neon-pink pixie.

_Sure, your upper state New York hometown is a_ fantastic _name, genius!_ She internally scolded herself for blatant stupidity. The names Felicia and Trixie had been rattling around in her brain, but her roots haunting her had her spitting up the first word that came to mind.

“Oh,” He took one last drag before sticking the remainder of the joint back into her mouth, “I rather like that.”

His soothing accent was enough to convince her that she could have picked something worse. She enjoyed his smoky words and he seemed to enjoy her company. They finished the rest of her weed before leaning back against the oddity of a vehicle. On a whim, Frank pulled her against him. His tongue plunged deep into her velvet mouth, searching the wet cavern.

Columbia wasted no time returning his ministrations, sucking his tongue when she got the chance. He tasted of sweet wine and fine tobacco; a combination she would come to hate.

“Saucy minx,” He growled, before lifting her up around his waist. She tightened her thighs around his hips, grinding against his growing erection.

“Do you think we could have a little bit more privacy,” she breathed hotly in his ear, nipping lightly. His green eyes trailed to the back of the hearse before meeting hers once more. “There any dead bodies in there?”

“Not that I know of,” He grinned, before sucking on her swollen lips, trailing down the porcelain expanse of her jaw.

“Too bad,” She moaned as he sucked on the tender skin of her neck, tugging at the roots of his hair.

The two found themselves at the back of the vehicle, drowning in a mass of pillows and velvet throws. Columbia should have questioned it, but was caught up in the moment. They stripped down to nearly nothing, Frank in only his skin-tight pants and Columbia in a lacy thong.

Frank decorated the canvas of her alabaster complexion with mulberry kisses, down to her breasts. He sucked and bit at one erect nipple while rolling the other in his free hand.

“Come home with me.” It wasn’t a beggar’s request, but a master’s command. She could only whimper in response. This earned her a sharp bite to the underside of her breast as his hand dipped into the waistband of her panties.

“Yes!” she screamed, “I’ll go with you anywhere as long as you keep _going_!”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way, kitten.” He licked his way to her navel before finally making it to the apex of her thighs. He tore her underwear off with one hand, eliciting a yelp of surprise. He got her off with his mouth before finishing their trek home.

The two tangled up the stairs of his abode, through a maze of gothic corridors. Columbia paid no mind to the strange décor as they pawed at each other. Running up the stairs, she wrapped her legs around Frank’s waist once more.

They left a trail of the clothing they had sloppily thrown back on after their tryst in the hearse. Columbia saw a wild haired woman watching them with piqued interest before they disappeared into Frank’s master bedroom.

His room was quite luxurious with a four-poster draped in crushed velvets and silks, as well as a lush bear skin rug laid out in front of the sprawling hearth.

The two barely made it to the bed, as they fell onto lush sheets. They rode until they were sore and raw. More than half of the positions in the Kamasutra had been utilized. Columbia knew her rump would be tender from the ceaseless spankings, but it had been a long time since she had been this satisfied. Frank made it clear that he was using her, but who cared? She was a down on her luck groupie; and with Zeppelin touring on the other side of the country, what was a girl to do?

If a fellow sexual deviant wanted to use her as his toy, she was more than happy to oblige.


End file.
